Mono
by Simon920
Summary: Dick's sick. Bet you can't guess what he has.


Thanks to Gabe for the medical info. **  
**

**Mono**

Dick Grayson was whipped, exhausted, stick a fork in him and call him done. He'd never been this tired in his entire life and he wasn't kidding—honestly, he wasn't. Okay, the last week had been a bear and the last couple of months had been killers but this was ridiculous.

The Titans had just gotten back from dealing with Deathstroke yet again and he felt like he'd been hung out to dry. Thank God the rest of the team were all right and no one was needing an ER or Star Labs or even Dr. Leslie but he was...

Christ, admit it. He felt like complete and total crap. He'd made it back to the Manor under his own power but he knew he'd been pretty shaky on his bike on the highway and was a little surprised that State Trooper hadn't pulled him over. A shower would feel good, then maybe six months of solid sleep would be nice but since he was scheduled to take the SAT's this week and if he didn't score something inhuman Bruce would probably fillet him. Dick knew he had daily tutoring sessions after school from now till Saturday in final prep for the tests, plus regular school, plus he was supposed to spend Tuesday sitting in at a Board Meeting with Wayne Corp. Then there were rehearsals for the school play and the college applications to work on and if the Titans were needed he'd probably fall over and die.

On top of that he had this frigging killer headache he couldn't shake and his body felt like every single muscle was stretched and knotted and begging for some kind of relief. He was off his feed and he'd swear that his lymph nodes or his glands were swollen to about the size of Ping-Pong balls. Add to that, the dark circles under his eyes were making him look like he was wearing Vampire make up or something. And did he mention the worst sore throat he'd ever had? This was more than just being stiff from last night's workout down in the cave gym, this was maybe like he was getting the flu and getting it good.

He really, truly felt like crap.

No, not a particularly good week.

He said hello to Alfred, not stopping to chat because then Alfred would ask him what the trouble was. Up in his room, finally, he started the shower in his private bathroom then stripped off his clothes, which were pretty rank and dropped them in the hamper. He popped four extra strength Advil's, hoping they were the really fast acting formula and then, turning back to open the stall door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the large vanity mirror and stopped dead.

"Holy shit."

He hadn't felt those bruises. He really hadn't, didn't know they were there until he saw them in the mirror just now and then looked down at himself. They weren't just your run of the mill bruises that anyone gets when they walk into the coffee table or bump their arm on a door or something—these were big, black 'who beat the shit out of you' bruises. They were the kind that you see on an abused kid or wife in an ER or someone who just came through some horrific car accident or something along those lines. These bruises were the kind that would make anyone ask what happened, then probably not believe the answer or just turn away because they don't want to get involved. They were on his legs and his ribs, his back and across his shoulders—big black stripes and blotches, almost looking like some make up artist had slipped with the black face. They looked terrible and the weird thing was that he couldn't remember—had absolutely no idea how he'd gotten them.

Shaking his head, too tired to think about them, Dick got into the shower and let the hot water flow over him, easing and soothing the aches and pains just enough to make him feel better, if not actually enough to allow him to cross the line to feeling good.

Half an hour later, dried off and, still exhausted, he turned off his lights and crawled into bed.

It was seven-thirty in the evening and he hadn't even bothered with dinner.

About nine Alfred quietly opened his door, saw that the boy was dead to the world and just assumed that the last adventure with his Titan friends had been a bit more taxing than usual.

* * *

"Is Dick all right?"

"I'm sure he is, sir, just a bit the worse for wear from the week's outing. I'm sure he'll be as right as rain in the morning."

Bruce nodded and turned to head down to the cave, "I don't like him missing a tutoring session—I'll talk to him about in at breakfast."

"I'm sure he regrets it as well, Master Bruce. You know how hard the lad works, I suspect he just needed to catch up on a bit of sleep, is all."

"I suppose." The grandfather's clock closed behind Bruce as he left to prepare for the evening's work. "If he's that tired, just let him sleep, will you? I'll see him tomorrow."

The next morning, about seven-thirty, Alfred was surprised that the young master hadn't yet made an appearance for breakfast, since he had to be sitting in his desk in homeroom at eight, sharp. He pushed the button on the intercom, connecting him to Dick's room. "Master Dick, are you on your way?"

"I'm here, Alf."

Not showing that he was startled, Alfred saw the boy standing in the doorway, looking like he was still tired, but up and dressed. "Yes, quite. Sit down, if you would be so kind and no dawdling. You're rather late." Dick grabbed an apple from the centerpiece and headed out the door. "I've your meal prepared, please be seated, young sir, and I would appreciate your eating it."

"'Not hungry. 'Later." And he was out the door, in his car and gone, leaving Alfred shaking his head and intent on a more thorough questioning session when the lad returned from school.

Two hours later Dick was sitting in AP Calculus class when the teacher noticed he seemed to be nodding off. All right, the Grayson boy seemed tired sometimes, but he generally managed to keep his eyes opened at least. Plus he just didn't look well. Fine, no use in taking chances with the kid. "Dick, go down to the nurse; you look like hell."

He started slightly, opened his eyes and thought that he could have told the teacher that himself, thanks. "I'm fine." It was half-hearted, at best.

"Go."

Clearly not up to arguing and probably just as happy to miss class, he put his book in his backpack and left. The nurse, the usual motherly part time, semi-retired Practical Nurse who was known for treating every complaint with a cup of hot tea, took one look, clucked over how he shouldn't allow himself to become so run down. She was about to call the emergency number on his contact sheet when, "I have my car here, Mrs. Reardon. Really. I can just get myself home."

"I think you should see your family doctor, Richard."

"…I can stop there first."

She gave him a look; she was used to teenagers. "That would be fine. In fact I'll just call Dr. Thompkins and let her know to expect you, all right?"

Like he had a choice. "Fine." Dick didn't bother to say anything, knowing there was no point in protesting and, truth be known, he'd be just as happy to get some antibiotics or something so he could shake this whatever it was he had.

Twenty minutes later Dick was shown directly into one of the examining rooms without waiting—the clinic was having a rare slow day. A nurse took his height, weight, blood pressure and temperature and said the doctor would be with him in a few minutes. Dick looked blankly out the window to a parking lot, glad that no one had come with him.

He felt like hell and he would really rather deal with this on his own. It wasn't like he was a little kid needing a band-aid or someone to kiss it and make it better. Leslie would give him something; he'd take it easy for a few days and be fine as soon as he shook this. Simple.

Leslie replaced the nurse in about five minutes. "Not feeling too well, Dick?" She was touching his neck, looking in his eyes, nose and ears with her flashlight.

"Just a little tired. I think I just need more sleep or something—you know, same old, same old." And get rid of the headache, sore throat, muscle aches, exhaustion…

She gave him an appraising glance. "Take off your tee-shirt, please, Dick. I need to listen to your chest."

He hesitated, knowing she'd see the bruises but hell—it wasn't like she'd never seen him bruised before, right? She probably wouldn't recognize him if he weren't wracked up one way or another.

She didn't bat an eye. "Are these from your after school job?"

He nodded; glad that Bruce and Alfred hadn't known about them, but they really didn't hurt so there was no point in upsetting them.

"Your throat is red—is it sore?"

He nodded.

"Headache?"

"Yes."

"Is it bad?"

"Medium." After four Advil's with his apple for breakfast.

"Lie back on the table, flat on your back." He did as he was asked. Leslie started probing his abdomen with her fingers, pausing over the left side up near his rib cage. "All right, sit up and put your shirt back on. I'm going to take a blood sample but I think it's just going to confirm that you have mono and pretty good case of it, from what I see."

"Mono? But I haven't been…" He stopped, blushing. He was as embarrassed as if she'd told him he had syph or the clap.

"You haven't been kissing anyone lately? With your looks and build? What's the matter with you?" The tiny smile was the only hint that she was teasing him. "That's not the only way you get it, you know. It's a virus and it spreads from person to person a number of ways, despite popular misconception."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Deal with it, Dick." Leslie knew just how you got mono, of course—or at least how Dick had likely contracted it; you became run down and then you were exposed to it. He could have shared a can of soda with a friend or something equally innocent and if he had indeed been kissing someone, well, he was old enough.

"How do you treat mono? I mean are there meds or something to get rid of it?"

"Bed rest until you get some of your usual strength back and vitamins. Unfortunately there isn't much else we can do. I'll know how serious it is when I get the blood results but from the look of you I'd say you're set down for a couple of months. I'd also like you to tell your school what you have—if not, I'll give them a call myself. I'd also suggest that you might want to cut your school hours down to a half-day schedule, if they can do that. If not, you should consider pulling out of your classes and have Alfred arrange for a tutor until you're better."

Dick couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're kidding."

"And no Robin until I say so—do you understand me, young man?"

"Ah, come on…"

She gave him a look Bruce could have learned from and Dick knew he was outranked. He'd go with the flow till he felt better and then, well, it wasn't like he'd never snuck out through the window before.

"And no sneaking out when you think no one's watching or you'll just get worse." She still had the look. Crap. "Now I'm giving you some prescriptions which you can get filled on the way home and I expect you to follow my orders. Is that clear?"

"What about these bruises? I don't even remember getting them."

"Perfectly normal for mono. You're anemic and so you're bruising more easily than you normally would. They look a lot worse than they feel though, right Dick?"

He nodded, deflated by his diagnosis. This sucked—Robin was grounded, the Titan's were on hold and he wouldn't even have school as entertainment. On the other hand, he really did feel awful and going to bed and staying there was sounding pretty good. "I'd really rather not tell Alfred and Bruce about this, if that's okay. I mean Bruce will overreact and blame me and then Alfred will be all worried. I can handle this myself."

She gave him another hard look—she knew him too well. "_Will_ you handle it or will you ignore it until I have to sign you into a hospital?"

"Well, God—I _do_ want to get better, you know. _Of course_ I'll take care of it." He looked shocked and hurt by her suggestion.

"And what are you going to tell your keepers about why you're grounded for a while?"

He tilted his head and had his best 'I know you're on to me but help me out here' expression. "I'm sure you can think of something they'll buy." He waited a moment while she thought about it. "C'mon, Dr. Leslie—you know that if they think I'm really sick they're gonna be all over me."

That was true, at least as far as Alfred was concerned, anyway. Bruce probably wouldn't really notice or chalk it down as unimportant. "Dick, have you considered that may not be a bad thing?"

"Oh no, that would definitely be a bad thing. Please?"

She crossed her arms against her chest and stared Dick into submission while she made up her mind. "Well all right but I'm going to be keeping a close eye on you and you can count on that. Now I'm giving you prescriptions. I'm expecting you to get them filled and I'm going to call Alfred to make sure that you're actually taking them—do you understand me? I expect you to make sure that you're getting enough food and rest, whether you want to or not."

"Fine." Dick was not happy, not even a little bit, not at all.

"Good and I'll have Marcia make an appointment for me to check on you in a week—naturally if you're worried about anything, come in before that. Now I think you're good to go and Dick? Behave yourself."

"Like I have a choice." He slid off the table, unhappy and feeling sick. "Thanks, Dr. Leslie and I'll do that stuff you want."

"All of it."

He managed to smile without answering as he left, prescriptions in hand. What a pain—half days in school, no Robin, no nothing for what did she say? Months? Cripes. Nope. No way. Alfred and the Bat would make life a living hell if they knew and so, therefore, they weren't going to find out. Life would be better this way. Much better.

He stopped on the way home at a large chain pharmacy and did get the scripts filled. They were for hydrocortisone and some serious vitamins. He could keep them up in his room without anyone knowing and he might be able to arrange his schedule with some kind of plausible lie—or not. On second thought he'd just keep his regular schedule and suck it up. Maybe he could get out of gym and use that forty-five minutes to rest or take a nap or something; that would help a little.

As for him doing the Robin thing, well, he'd just do it. He was a professional and it wasn't like this was the first time he'd worked on less than all cylinders. He'd be fine.

The first week passed with Dick pretty much in a semi-daze. Between the constant pain of the non-stop headache, his throat, general aches and pains and exhaustion he was lucky if he was sure what day it was. But, somehow he managed to keep Alfred and Bruce from realizing that he was suffering from more than just his usual overextended schedule and keep up with everything he was supposed to do, both in and out of school.

Okay, sure, the Bat wondered why he was a little slow on the uptake when they ran across Joker Tuesday night but it wasn't too bad, all things considered. Dick got his hands free from the handcuffs in plenty of time to avoid that boiling acid and even got away and up to his bedroom without Bruce or Alf seeing the black bruises they'd left on his wrists. He'd just wear long sleeved shirts for a few days. So what if it was May and in the high seventies. He could be a little chilly, couldn't he?

The next week wasn't all that much better. He was still exhausted beyond belief and the SAT's were looming. He'd managed to actually stay awake during the tutoring sessions Bruce insisted on but it was a struggle and even the very well paid tutor was starting to get annoyed at the way he kept forcing himself t keep his eyes opened. He managed, but it wasn't easy.

Dick told the school about the mono and they'd easily agreed to him switching out of gym and substituting a study hall. He insisted that was all he needed and he was handling things just fine, thank you. In fact he thought he was starting to feel much better, thank you. Besides, it was good timing because now he could cram for the upcoming tests, lucky him.

He almost pulled it off, in fact. He came really close. If it hadn't been for that phone call from Leslie he would have gotten away with it.

As soon as he walked into the Manor on the third Wednesday he knew something was wrong and that couldn't be good. Alfred met him in the front entranceway with that expression Dick had learned to hate over he years…the expression that said he'd done something and now he was about to pay the piper for whatever infraction had been discovered.

Crap.

"Hey, Alf. Something up?"

"Quite. I've received a phone call from Doctor Thompkins. Perhaps you might be able to explain why you've been under her care for almost a month and yet didn't see fit to inform either myself or the master?"

He decided that offense was the best defense. "Because if I'm not sick enough for you to even notice, I'm not too sick, that's why. I didn't want you to worry about nothing."

Good try but no cigar. He was busted the second Alfred gave him that look, the one that told him to not even bother trying the scam he was running. "The good doctor informed me his afternoon that your latest blood results were in and she's convinced that you're still over doing and thus have regressed instead of making improvement to your condition. In fact she strongly suggested that you should withdraw from school and engage a tutor until you recover."

"But…"

"To that end I have informed your school that's exactly what we shall be doing and your principal has been good enough to provide me with several names of suitable temporary teachers for you while you're confined to the house."

"Alfred…"

"I have also taken the liberty of informing Master Bruce about this development and I believe that he wishes to discuss the situation with you when he returns this evening." He took Dick's backpack from where it was hanging loosely from the boy's. "Now, I would suggest that you take yourself upstairs and rest until dinner is ready."

Dick knew when he was beaten. He turned to the stairs and climbed, secretly agreeing that a nap was just about all he was up for now.

"And," Alfred's voice followed him, "I would further suggest that you inform your cohorts with the Teen Titans that you will be unavailable for the foreseeable future, as well."

"Fine."

Busted.

* * *

"You talked to Dr. Leslie?"

Bruce didn't bother to answer as he walked into Dick's room. He stood for a moment looking at the young man, as I deciding just what to say. He chose to stand, making the difference in their power more obvious. Finally: "You have to realize the extent you've jeopardized both Batman and Robin's efficiency and the Titan's by not telling anyone that you're sick. Furthermore, because you decided to keep this to yourself, you compromised bother your grades and your test cores in the SAT's, potentially affecting your eventual college choices. Beyond _that_, you've caused Alfred upset and you know how completely unacceptable that is to me." Dick, sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, didn't say anything, his eyes on Bruce. "I've informed your school that you're withdrawing temporarily and will be tutored, as Leslie suggested. Your principal is cooperating and assured me that your assignments for the rest of the month will be sent tomorrow and every month until you're well enough to return to your regular schedule. I expect you to maintain your GPA. Obviously you're confined to the property until you're recovered and after that, you may consider yourself grounded for six months as a reminder that your actions affect other people." Message delivered, Bruce was ready to go.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No."

Bruce's expression changed infinitesimally. "No what?"

"I'm not a child and you're not going to treat me like one. Maybe I should have told you that I was sick, but I was handling things just fine and now you're overreacting, like you always do." Bruce crossed his arms; listening with a faint and patronizing smile. "In six months or so I'm leaving for college and'll be on my own. I've been a working professional since I was three years old. I maintain a 3.9 GPA, I lead the Titans and I've been a damn good Robin since I was nine years old in addition to being ranked one of the top five gymnasts in the world."

"If you have a point, make it."

"You can't tell me what to do—you can't come in laying down the law and giving orders and think that I'm going to just nod and go along with everything like I did when I was ten years old."

"Indeed?" he uncrossed his arms, slipping his hands casually into his pockets. "You're grounded for six months after Leslie decides you're recovered. That means that unless you have my express permission, other than for school, you'll be here." He paused at the threshold and turned back. "That goes for Robin as well. If anyone asks, I'll simply explain that you're busy with your studies and recovering from the mono. I'm sure the Titans will soldier on without you."

Dick's expression hadn't changed since Bruce started speaking. "No."

"You'll do as I say—that was the agreement when you became Robin and nothing has changed."

"Your way of the highway?"

"Use any cliché you want."

Dick watched the door silently close, leaving him alone. He idly noticed that the only thing he could hear was the clock ticking while he lay back on the bed to debate his options.

3/13/08

11


End file.
